


another immigrant comin' up from the bottom

by herowndeliverance (atheilen)



Series: an aegis very essential [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, First Meetings, Gen, Washingdad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 05:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12624171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheilen/pseuds/herowndeliverance
Summary: In which Alexander Hamilton meets his commanding officer, and George Washington meets his son.





	another immigrant comin' up from the bottom

The thing Alexander Hamilton remembered about the first time he met George Washington, every day after, was the general's shadow.

Washington himself would call this nonsense— _you're hysterical as a woman, Hamilton,_ he would say in that particular cutting tone he used when he wanted to excoriate Hamilton for the failings he saw in himself, _go to sleep._ But he knew what happened. He was digging a ditch, in the blistering sun, and then all of a sudden there was shade. It should have been comforting, but was not, for it meant he was being watched.

The other thing he remembered for the rest of his life, unfortunately enough was how he reacted to the intrusion. The shovel slid from his hand, and he just barely managed to keep his grasp on it as he spun around to face the man standing over him.

"The hell—oh. Your Excellency. Sir." He didn't see much of Washington's frame, just the blue sash he wore to distinguish himself from the staff, but that was enough to cause him extreme mortification. The shovel slipped from his fingers as he forced himself into the crispest pose of attention he could manage.

"My apologies for startling you," he said, looking at Alexander's uniform. "Captain. I merely wished to commend you on your work, and to inquire as to its purpose."

Hamilton dared to glance at the man's face, which revealed nothing to him. Washington could, as far as he knew, be about to reprimand him for insubordination or say that Alexander was a fine young officer, and he wouldn't know.

"Oh, um, well, uh, we're building…fortifications?" Hamilton babbled, like an idiot. "I noticed this portion of the perimeter wasn't quite as well defended as I would like, so I set my company to fixing that. You know."

"A fine showing of initiative, Captain…"

"H-Hamilton, sir." Somehow he stuttered on his own name. This was a truly banner day, he thought to himself viciously, one to be memorialized in the annals of recorded time.

"Hamilton," the general rumbled. Alexander would never have noticed, had he not survived his entire life by reading the cues, subtle or not, of men stronger and more powerful than he. But he had, and so he saw the general rock back, ever so slightly, on his heels. Saw him sway a bit, like the tree his shadow had aped for a moment. Alexander had startled him every bit as much as he'd startled Alexander, but he had no idea how or why.

He filed that thought away to consider later. Now was not the time.

"Captain Hamilton," repeated the general. " _Alexander_ Hamilton."

The emphasis was odd…was there some other Hamilton the general was expecting him to be? He'd be glad enough to switch names if it helped.

General George Washington knew who he was. He swallowed. Tried not to smile, tried to hold on to the soldier's stoicism the general had perfected. "Yes, sir. At your service, sir."

The general's expression did not change. "You fought well at Trenton, as I recall."

Hamilton knew it was a trick, knew His Excellency had to play such games with the men, to make them feel appreciated. He would have said that to any soldier he saw. But he could not help but warm to the regard all the same. General Washington knew who he was. He knew who his men were. "Th-thank you, sir. Our duty only."

"Still. You have my gratitude, Captain." His gratitude, not the gratitude of the Continental Army. That meant something. It had to.

Then Alexander ran his mouth off in the stupidest way he could imagine, which was really saying something. "And you mine, sir."

Shit. That was presumptuous, idiotic. He'd only meant that he was grateful Washington had stayed the course, surrounded as he was by desertion, scorn, and vicious calumnies. But any explanation he could give for the remark would only make it sound worse. Hamilton wondered if it were acceptable to crawl into the hole he was digging. Just stay there and never come out.

"It's good," said the general, "that you dig with your men."

The abrupt change of subject unsettled him, but he supposed it was a kind of mercy. "Oh, yeah, I think it's, um, good for, morale, you know. To um, show the men you're with them."

"Indeed," said Washington. "Pass me that shovel of yours, would you, my boy?"

"What? Oh!" He bristled. He wasn't a boy, wasn't anyone's boy. "I don't need morale, sir."

That, if he was not mistaken, caused the general to smile. "To tell you the truth, Hamilton, I'm trying to avoid my correspondence. Please. Do me this favor. Give me a quarter-hour where all I have to do is dig."

And yeah, Hamilton could understand that. "Don't you have staff to handle that sort of thing, sir?"

"Allegedly."

Hamilton passed him the shovel, then went to go fetch himself another. But the general stopped him. "Take a break, son, I've got it. Here, go sit in the shade."

Alexander stepped out of the general's shadow and into the shade of the tree, concentrating on looking appropriately restful. Sometimes men like this got ideas in their heads, and you had to humor them so you could get back to work as soon as possible. It was tiresome, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

Well. That could have gone better. He couldn't believe he had told General Washington he was _grateful_ to him. Jesus. And after treating him like an armed intruder, too. He could not have botched that meeting more if he'd tried.

All too quickly General Washington came over to fetch him. "Thank you, Hamilton," he said, like Hamilton really had done him a favor. "I'm…very glad to have finally met you."

Finally. Like it had been an appointment on his calendar. Like he'd been waiting for it. Alexander shook his head. The sun must be getting to him.

*

The second time Alexander Hamilton met George Washington, they did not speak at all. Instead, Alexander shot like a madman, trying to give him cover for the retreat.

 _You'll fucking pay,_ he remembered thinking at the redcoats. _I'll make you pay for trying to make him bleed._

And he did.

*

The third time Alexander Hamilton met George Washington, he was offered a pen, and with it a burden.

Oh, he'd be a fool to turn it down. He knew that from the first, though he didn't think himself suited. This was a shot, maybe his shot, but he almost took a page out of Burr's book for once in his life, and waited.

 _I need someone like you,_ the general said. Hamilton caught sight of his shadow, cast by the flames. It was very large, and very stooped. Alexander Hamilton could recognize desperation on a man's face. He'd seen it on his own often enough.

A flash of memory…he was having those more and more often of late, and did not wish to think about why. His mother was sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the night, going over the figures. _I need your help, petit,_ she said. _I can't make it fit, but you can. Please._

And he always did. 

He took the pen.


End file.
